Gooseberries
Asking
every time I go to her house
To find
out whether the time is right
If the
season has yet come round
When we
can start the picking
Grandma
cautious of the damage
That may
be done to little hands
Finds
the fabric gloves inside the shed
And
finally gives the go-ahead
The
thrill of impending danger
From the
vicious scratching thorns
Hiding
beneath the leaves of shiny green
To find
and pluck the precious fruits
The
light-green downy orbs
To fill
the waiting basket
And
emerge triumphant
Unscathed
and only slightly scratched
Then
Grandma hard at work
To top
and tail the little beauties
Dredged
in caster sugar
And hidden
beneath the pastry crust
Of the
pie we shall have tonight for tea
Then to
commit the rest to jars and jams
That we
might enjoy them longer
Bursts
of luscious fruit in deep mid-winter
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